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Balass continued, “But if I do not surrender—if you, the united Adumari coalition, accept at this moment my offer of truce without repercussion for our recent battles—then Cartann can join your union as an equal partner. Now, instantly, with terms to follow when we have time for negotiations. I can cast the votes of Cartann’s protectorates, then free those nations when we have the luxury of time. Lords and ladies, if you abandon your grudge against Cartann, if you consider the old Cartann to have departed with my father’s abdication and a new one to stand before you, we can forge a world union, in tentative form at least, in minutes. Or you can have your revenge and watch our world fall.

“Now, it is time for you to decide.” He turned to face the many-faceted flatscreen, his hands on his hips, his expression imperious.

Wedge suppressed a whistle. If Balass pulled this off, he’d save his nation any number of troubles—years or decades of reparation payments, the perceived dishonor of wartime surrender, and much more. Wedge had seldom seen a leader take such a hurdle within seconds of accepting his position.

The figures on the flatscreens began talking with one another, their voices not broadcast over the speakers. One by one, the images of distant courtrooms and planning chambers winked down to neutral gray.

“We’re going to do it,” Tomer said. “He has them by the power cables. They have to accept. We’re going to win.”

“Yes, we are.” Wedge smiled at him. It was easy to do so. All he had to do was imagine the man’s fate.

“I was delighted when I heard that you and your pilots had survived the gauntlet, and then the rumors that you’d made it outside Cartann …”

“I imagine you were.”

“And this raid!” Tomer gestured expansively. “More successful than you imagined, I’ll bet.”

“No, it’s right on the money so far. But give it time. I predict that it will get even better.”

Tomer’s expression lost some of its glee, becoming more uncertain. “How so?”

The two flatscreens flashed back into activity. As before, Escalion of Yedagon dominated one of them, and it was he who spoke. “Perator Balass, much as we think Cartann should shoulder the major share of loss for the brief war we have suffered, you are correct. Everyone’s circumstances have changed, and no one has time for even the most honorable prosecution. We offer Cartann a seat, a full vote, a full voice in what we now call the Adumari Union.”

“I accept.” Balass bowed to Escalion, then turned and bowed to the viewers on the other flatscreen. “Who will speak for us to the New Republic?”

Escalion said, “I think we would accept none other than General Antilles.”

Wedge cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Your elected speaker will be talking with me. I still have my duties as ambassador of the New Republic.”

“Then we will choose from among ourselves,” Escalion said.

As the perators and their advisors from around Adumar began a spirited—and, Wedge hoped, brief—discussion, Wedge turned to Tomer. “Tycho?”

Wedge drew his blaster, put its point up under Tomer’s chin. Tycho drew in the same moment, putting his barrel to Tomer’s left eye; the diplomat had to close his eye to keep it from being hurt.

“What is this?” Tomer asked. His tone was calm, even unconcerned. Wedge was impressed with his poise.

“It’s time for you to call Allegiance and tell them to acknowledge and accept transmissions from all New Republic personnel and citizens on the ground,” Wedge said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“And if you don’t do it, we’re going to hand you over to these Halbegardian guards. They’ll conduct you back to Halbegardia or the Yedagon Confederacy. They’ll put you on trial as a war criminal based on what I have to tell them about your interaction with Pekaelic. I doubt you can expect much mercy at their hands. On the other hand, comply and I’ll turn you over to the New Republic for prosecution. Assuming neither Tycho nor I has a spasm and blows your head off.”

Tomer heaved a sigh. “I admit nothing,” he said. But